I rolled out and was quickly dressed and ready.

When near the turkey haunt Uncle Kit took a quill from his pocket and by a peculiar noise on the quill called the turkeys up near to him, then took aim at one, fired and killed it.

“Now Willie,” he said, “do you think you can do that to-morrow morning?”

I told him that I thought if I could get close enough, and the turkeys would stand right still, I believed I could fetch one.  And I desired to know if it was certain that there would be turkeys where we were to camp that night.

“Oh, yes;” said he, “thar’ll be plenty of ’em for some days yit.”

Early the next morning Uncle Kit called me as usual, and said, “Git up now, an’ see what you can do for a turkey breakfast.”

Instantly I was on my feet, Uncle Kit showed me the direction to go, loaned me his turkey-call quill, which, by the way, he had been teaching me how to use as we rode the day before.

I shouldered my rifle and had not gone far when I heard the turkeys, up the river.  Then I took the quill and started my turkey tune.  Directly a big old gobbler came strutting towards me and I called him up as near to me as he would come, for I wanted to make sure of him.

Uncle Kit had told me about the “buck-ague” and I knew I had it when I tried to draw a bead on that big gobbler.  I had never shot at a living thing, and when I leveled my rifle it was impossible to control my nerves.

The turkey seemed to jump up and down, and appeared to me to be as big as a pony, when I looked at him along the rifle.  Two or three times I tried to hold the bead on him, but could not.  Now I wouldn’t have missed killing him for anything, in reason, for I feared that Uncle Kit and Mr. Hughes would laugh at me.

At last, however, the sights of my gun steadied long enough for me to pull the trigger, and to my great delight—­and I may as well admit, surprise—­Mr. Gobbler tumbled over dead when I fired, and he was so heavy as to be a good load for me to carry to camp.

Now I was filled with confidence in myself, and became eager for a shot at bigger game; antelope, deer or buffalo.

In a few days we passed Ft.  Scott and then we were entirely beyond the bounds of civilization.

From that on, until we reached our destination, the only living things we saw were jack-rabbits, prairie-dogs, antelope, deer, buffalo, sage-hens and Indians, barring, of course, insects, reptiles and the like, and the little owls that live with the prairie-dogs and sit upon the mounds of the dog villages, eyeing affairs with seeming dignity and wisdom.

The owls seem to turn their heads while watching you, their bodies remaining stationary, until, it has been said, you may wring their heads off by walking around them a few times.  I would not have my young friends believe, however, that this is true.  It is only a very old joke of the plains.